Three Sixes: Part One
by Freelance Muse
Summary: A series of expositions in the lives of Three humanoid model Sixes. This segment applies to just one of them. More coming soon!


It is cold. There are sounds, varied but muffled. And I can't move. My muscles want to go tense to fight the unknown and close darkness. I tuck in on myself, folded fetally. This makes the space I'm in seem larger. My body begins to sense the rhythm that I am moving with, leaning into the sides, back and forth. My mind is clearing with my regained consciousness and I can begin to envision the world outside.

Dozens of feet walking on metal floors. I seem to be laying on my right side. My shins register cold ahead and my elbows and all along the length of my arms I can feel cold also behind. I realize then that my arms are tied behind me. This fact stands alone for long moments, as I can't recall how this came to be or anything about having been put into a box. Pondering that will for the moment only distract me from my observations. I listen harder. The steps closest to me sounds as though they're not in unison. The steps are heavy, maybe booted feet, but it rules out the probability of my having been apprehended by the military or anyone in an official capacity. I spare a moment to hope that it also rules out being airlocked. Faint snatches of music confirms that I am not on a Battlestar. I am probably not under arrest.

But who else would abduct me? I know no one on Xanthus Vex from my time on the colonies. Most of the people I'd come into contact with on a daily basis do not leave the small vessel as they have no military inclinations or government connections. Fifty six days into the exodus, and I've largely managed to avoid all contact with the marines that drop the meager supplies rationed for the 23 souls onboard. Simple enough to deduce that they'd be more likely to have seen images of my sisters, if they haven't seen them in the flesh themselves. Rumors do travel through the fleet though, more readily than supplies, and I've heard grisly retellings of what has been done to humanoids that have been discovered.

All of my friends on the Vex know is the half of my life on Virgon that had nothing to do with the larger mission. I can easily recall memories of being a first cast dancer at the Aglaia City dance troupe, a troupe which none of them knows was employed by the same university that employed Julian Kelso: a professor with a high security clearance, and Colonial Government connections due to his tremendous number of patents on weapons technologies. The notion that I was a dancer helps to explain my apparent hygiene and occasionally colorful and unmodest clothing. I was lucky to find that two of the men onboard the Vex were musicians. We relate as fellow artists. I dance with them as they make music. I am careful each song, each hour, each day and each week that I keep the balance between Rafe and Jax so that there is no need for conflict. The ship is small, and drama of any kind could not go unnoticed. I enjoy their company, and they provide me with shelter, protection and nourishment. We all joke that culture is being reborn in the outer fleet while the core ships do whatever it is they are doing anyway. I poinder my own rebirth. Rafe and Jax had extended their hands to me almost from the moment of my arrival in Kelso's short range private shuttle. Kelso had not survived the journey, but critical supplies and parts of his ship were welcomed to the cache of those already set aside by the people on the Vex. They are mostly stragglers like myself bound together by circumstance.

But this is not the Xanthus Vex. From what I've gathered, the sounds and lengths of the hallways without turns, it must be much larger. The ones carrying me do not seem to speak but I cannot be sure, there are too many voices to hear distinctly. I'd gone to sleep alone having spent an evening with Jax before he went for his deckhanding shift. I'd woken up here. The voyage ends in a place where the myriad of sounds is dampened. The container is opened, I'm pulled up by the arms. I cannot see, I try blinking, but out in the free air I can discern that there's a shroud over my head. The light coming in through the stitching on the smooth fabric is dim anyway. The arms holding me up disappear and I sink to my knees. The hood is removed.

My eyes adjust to the light and I begin to make sense of the colors. Light swirls together and solidifies into shapes. Out of the chaos emerged a man who is standing before me. Black boots lead up to darkly panted legs, dark garments, a long coat. Up I look into eyes behind spectacles. Bright violet eyes. Dark hair cropped short. He is not an extraordinarily tall man, but he does not seem to be lacking in muscle mass. The room beyond him has a bed, a desk, and stacks of books. There is a small washroom whose light is on above the mirror.

He speaks after considering me for a moment and dismissing the guards who I hear walk just out into the hallway. His voice is genteel, cold, almost hard, but the urbanity of it suggests that there is still hope. "I believe you are known as Hayley Phoenix." There is a balance of force and a lilting invitingness that draws a response from me.

I nod, finding my voice accessible, though somewhat low and on the verge of quavering. The strength of my combined fear and curiosity keep my mind active, wondering what he wants, and how to keep myself alive. I know I can do this. "I am," blinking still seems difficult, more than it should be. I am not sure why each time I blink it takes so long, but I chalk it up to my fear and look up to him from where I kneel and continue, "May I ask why you've brought me here, Sir?"

"I know what you are." He says simply. I figure if we can keep the word cylon from being spoken aloud, that I can buy myself more time.

I respond, "A dancer from Virgon, you may ask my friends on the Vex."

"You're one of them." He says, as if dismissing my claim altogether.

I ask, "Are you going to kill me? I hope that since you brought me here that you have something else in mind?"

His suddenly increased proximity stops me from talking. There is the barest curve to his lips, though it is not clear whether he is smiling. I try to straighten myself a bit, and flex and stretch the muscles in my arms and shoulders, still manacled behind me. I see that this deepens the curve of his smile and offer him a small one of my own in return. "You'll stay here where you're not a threat to our fleet, though I'd like to get to know you better. I believe that your kind has sentience, but I also know that you are probably complicit with the plans to destroy my kind or were. None of that matters now, because you are here, and from what I understand you're a long way from being able to download."

I do not let my small smile falter, and look at him from beneath lowered lashes. He may be charmed, but he is still content to keep me bound. He reaches closer to me, leaning in so that I feel the heat of him, smell the warmth of him with my own nose. He attaches a thin metal cylinder around my neck, the clasp of which terminates in a small box. "If you cross past the doors of this suite, you'll be given a dose of radiation that'll ensure you a painful death. Until I'm certain you won't seek death, you'll stay chained out of reach of the doorway." It is unclear, since he is still close, whether he means me harm or is simply enjoying my proximity. He steps away, letting out a length of chain attached to the radiation collar. He moves far enough away that I must crawl or be pulled onto my face. He moves me to one wall, and affixes the chain to it. He has placed a small palette on the floor here with a pillow and blanket, obviously in preparation for my arrival.

This done, he moves to the nearest surface, in this case his desk, and retrieves a syringe which he pulls from a small black box with other such needles inside. He uncaps it and in what seems like one movement drives the syringe into my neck, and depresses the plunger. I feel my grip on my perception growing loose. Things seem to be coming apart, or I can't hold onto thoughts. My lids grow heavy again, the colors begin to swim. "Sweet dreams, if you have them." I manage to lay down on the palette and stretch out my legs before everything fades away. I sense him watching me as I go, but the sedative carries me down in a cloud of gray.


End file.
